


Leporidae

by ambersagen



Series: Stiles-Centric One Shots [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Bad Alpha Derek Hale, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Good Alpha Pack, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Non-Human Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Rabbit!Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Werecreature Stiles Stilinski, a sort of parallel universe if you will, bunny!stiles, im mean to so many people in this im sorry but also not sorry, not pack friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: The pack think they are protecting Stiles by kicking him out just as the Alpha pack becomes a real problem (hint, the only thing they are protecting are their own asses). Unfortunately for them Stiles takes offence at this and Peter agrees, actually so does the Sheriff. Maybe it's time for Stiles to stop pretending he's so damn breakable and show these doggies how the wild things play.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bummed I missed Steter week but it was not good brain times for me. So I'm just sort of picking prompts I saw on the list and liked.  


_I am a little bunny,_   
_My strong legs are for jumping._   
_Warning others of danger,_   
_I use my feet for thumping._

_🌼~🐇~🌼_

He was fucked. 

_"This is why we don't trust predators. All they ever see is the meal in front of their nose. Big picture say what now? Group safety and pack well-being who? Common sense? Barely know her!" _Stiles thought to himself, keeping a running commentary as he clenched his jaw tight against letting the vitriol, or his secrets, vomit out all over the gathering of idiots that were laying down the law for him as if they had any _right._

"Are yo_u serious_ right now." Stiles was impressed with how utterly done he sounded even to his own ears. He was practically vibrating with rage at the nerve of these puppies. "_I'm_ a liability? Since fucking when? When I was saving your ass from crazy-Argent bullets?" He jabbed an accusing finger at Derek's face, only to receive an eyeroll in return. He kicked the side of the couch, making everyone jump at the noise, or more like jump in shock that it was Stiles who was getting violent. Like hell was he going to let this upstart young Alpha dismiss his contribution to their pack. Stiles may not be an Alpha himself but every instinct he had said with no uncertainty that he was belonged at the top here. "Or was it when I held your ungrateful ass up for hours in the pool while being hunted by a raging kanima? Or was I a liability when I saved the pack from crazy Argents AGAIN just last month?" he wasn't yelling anymore, a bitter calm settling over him as he became hyper aware of every wolf in the room. "Was I a liability when I was setting HIS murdering ass on fire?" he spat, pointing accusingly at the newly resurrected eldest Hale, who only raised his hands in placation.

"Please keep me out of this. I was completely against abandoning you to the Alpha Pack's no doubt tender mercies. You are, and have always been, the only competent person in this tragic troupe of clowns." Peter met the disgusted looks of the teenagers with a grimace of his own distaste. To his credit he obviously wasn't any happier about this than Stiles was, though his actual reasons for his discomfort remained a mystery.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, resisting the urge to stamp threateningly in warning toward the wolf. "Great. Now I'm flattered _and_ disturbed. Thanks but no thanks for the vote of confidence, zombiewolf."

"Stiles, we aren't abandoning you," Scott said, giving Peter a glare, as if he had any right to judge based on his own poor choice of allies lately. "But you can't help us fight a pack of Alphas. You're better off away from all this. Once they see you don't have any contact with us they'll lose interest in you. You'll be safe."

Stiles gave a bark of laughter. "Do you actually believe that? I take back anything I ever said about you having secret depths. You're a fucking moron. I'll be safe?" He could almost feel his ribs throb with phantom pain from the beat down he had taken in the Argent's basement last month while Scott and Derek hadn't even been aware he was missing. 

"How will I be safe, Scott? Alone? No one to watch my back, my dad ignorant of all this wolf bullcrap and a big target already painted on me and my family from all our recent, werewolf-related gang wars?" Stiles snorted. “Right, because this is what every pack does to keep its weak members safe, right? Push them out of the group? Let them run alone among predators and watch them get devoured from a distance?"

"No," Peter didn't raise his voice. In fact, the older wolf looked unusually grim, his trademark smarm nowhere to be seen. "A pack is supposed to protect it's vulnerable members. To shelter and care for them. The weak, old and young," his gaze flicked to Derek, "The wounded. Wolves aren't built to survive alone. We are meant to support each other. That's what pack is supposed to be." 

Oh. Right. Stiles knew full well this wasn't how things were supposed to be done, his mom had taught him well, but it made a twisted kind of sense, didn't it? Where would Derek have learned how an Alpha acts to protect its pack? From his long dead mother who thought letting the largest, most vicious hunting family live right under her pack's nose was a good idea? Or from his sister, who seemed all too comfortable with abandoning her half dead uncle in alone for years, checked into a hospital in enemy territory under his own name. That was practically throwing meat in front of hungry lions so that you have time to escape. That's the Alpha Derek had admired and mourned. Suddenly Stiles had an aching sympathy for Peter's need to murder and bleed dry those who hurt him.

Talk about precedent.

"Fuck you. I know what being pack gets me. I've_ been_ pack this whole time and all it got me was shot at, hunted down, kidnapped, beat up by hunters, and you guys spitting on me the second I come limping to any of you for comfort.”

He sent a particularly vicious look toward the corner where Erica and Boyd were lounging across the love seat like assholes, pretending to be so unaffected and aloof, like this whole thing bored them. After their shared captivity and the ensuing torture together at Gerard's hands Stiles had thought they understood each other. He had even entertained the thought that they were finally going to be a real pack after he had managed to break free and the three of them had staggered out of that basement, bloodied but euphoric at their escape. But no, together they had returned to Derek, but instead of building a family they just compounded on their horrible circle of abuse, mistrust, and smug, specieist nonsense. Too cool to be touched by emotional connections, too strong to admit they ever made mistakes. It made Stiles twitch with a desperate desire to flee every time he had be in the same room as them. A cornered wolf was a wolf that would bite first ask questions never.

Finally, like a wave crashing against a rocky cliff and then calmly slipping away back into the ocean, it was clear to him that this was over. They wanted him out? Fine. He wanted out too. This pack was doomed by their own choice and he wasn't going to be dinner for the Alphas. 

He grabbed his bag off the table, ignoring the annoyed fang Derek flashed as he scooped all the files full of hard earned info on the Alpha pack's activity that he had only just brought over minutes ago before they ambushed him with their wonderful plan. He ignored Scott's confused protests as shoved them into his bag. It was his info, earned through his hard work. It would be coming home with him so he could help his family.

“Good luck assholes. I’m done. Too bad for you guys." He paused. 

"I wonder," He gave the room a slow, considering look just for the drama of it all. "With me gone, who gets to take my place? Who gets to be the new weakest link who will be sacrificed to keep the stronger wolves alive?" Blank stares met him from the teen side of the room. 

Huh, they really weren't getting it, were they? 

"Which one of you will it be? Issac? Looking forward to get left for hunters to torture because you were weak enough to get caught? Erica and Boyd already had that fun experience, although I wonder if desertion knocks you down low enough on the wolfy ladder of sacrifice that you two wont be considered much of a loss if they have to use you as bait for the next monster trying to kill us all. I wonder what happens when you run out of weak pack to sacrifice, Derek?" he taunted as he threw the backpack over his shoulders. "Will you bite more kids to use as cannon fodder? " He snorted, shaking his head. "You’re all just a bunch of pathetic carnivores caught in a mad scramble to avoid being the next dead body. Go screw yourselves.”"

There were low growls from every wolf except Peter, but even with his heightened senses Stiles couldn't tell who the growls were directed at. Could be him, could be their dearest Alpha. 

“You’re safer without us.” Derek repeated, standing firm, and Stiles tutted. Old dog old tricks.

“You bet your ass I am. Because this, isn't a pack. You never worked together, like a family should. I never should have forgotten that." He stamped his foot in frustration, not caring one bit that it made him look like a petulant toddler. He had been hiding and burying himself for too long and look what it got him. "I can't believe I chose you mutts over my own family."

"Stiles, that's not fair—" Scott started whining, but Stiles had no interest in hearing even a bit of it.

"Have fun dying. I'm going to come clean to my dad, like I should have done from the start, and _we _are going to keep ourselves and our town safe.” He wished he could slam the door but the stupid loft had stupid, heavy-ass doors that ruined his dramatic exit just a bit.

“No you aren't. You aren't going to tell _anyone_ about us.” Derek's furious command came from right behind him and all logical thought in Stiles just flipped off like a light. 

Faster than any wolf could track he was spinning, torso tucking in, leg snapping out as he jump-kicked the Alpha right in the face, the heel of his sneaker connecting with an audible crack to Derek's chin. His aim was perfect, his long legs not just an unfortunate curse of puberty and his unrestrained supernatural strength sent Derek skidding back, his eyes rolling up in his skull after receiving the blow which would have KO'd a human.

“By bitches!” Stiles was out the door before the wolves had even finished gasping in shock. “Have fun being expendable Alpha pack chow!”

He swung round the corner, completely ignoring the busted-ass elevator in favor of leaping down several flights of stairs, his steps graceful and light as he let loose all that pent up prey energy that had been building for months. Run run run rabbit boy. Back to the burrow, back to your colony. Run and hide and survive.

🌼~🐇~🌼


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work was no fun. Time to pretend my plot bunnies are real bunnies I can cuddle. Also kisses and cookies to all who commented last chapter and gave me the will to keep on keeping on.

**I am a Little Bunny**

_I am a little bunny,_   
_These are my very long ears._   
_They help me hear many sounds,_   
_I can hear from far and near._

_🌼~🐇~🌼_

“Dad! We need to talk!” Stiles burst through the front door as if the wolves were snapping at his heels, catching John mid bite of Chinese takeout. For a moment the kitchen was a cacophony of violent coughing and swearing, utensils and food hitting various surfaces, and Stiles’ cry of outrage at this blatant rule breaking and also the loss of the orange chicken he had been saving for his midnight snack.

“Alright enough!” John said, finally catching his breath enough to shove a hand out to cover Stiles’ mouth. “Calm down. We can argue later over whether I’m your father_ and_ an adult who can eat what I want or whether I'm not. Now, what did you want? What’s got a fire under your tail?”

Stiles blinked slowly, exaggerating his never ending patience until John rolled his eyes and removed his hand before Stiles thought to lick it to escape.

“Thank you. Breathing has always been a passion of mine. And yes, disregarding the argument I will totally be winning later about your health, I have news. Well, not new-news exactly. I have answers? Uh yeah, answers to all the questions you've been secretly and not so secretly wanting to know."

For a beat or two they just stared at each other, awkwardly silent while this declaration took some time to sit before finally clicking. With a huge sigh John sat down at the kitchen table, pulling his son into the seat beside him. "Finally. Spill kiddo. I want to hear it all, you got me?"

"Yeah dad, all of it, for real." Stiles felt his stomach clench as he looked at his father's tired face, seeing the almost permanently pinched look in his eyes and knowing he caused that. "I'm really sorry. I just... I got caught up in this fantasy of building something that was never going to work and I forgot what I already had right here." Time to bite the bullet. At least his dad was better prepared than other humans to accept this. 

Rabbit Rule #1. If you see danger, tell everyone you know. 

"Dad," he said, drawing himself up and looking his father right in the eye. It was time to get serious. "The Hales were, and are, werewolves. And I guess Scott's one now too. So are a few other kids from school." He paused, but his father just nudged him gently with his knee, a silent support to keep him going. "It's a big mess, and I'm not sorry for wanting to keep you safe and out of it, but it's really dangerous now and I need you aware of what's happening. It's so much worse than anything mom ever talked about." 

Understatement. His mother had told him stories of course, but what were tales so old they were half lost to time compared to actual crazed humans willing to burn children alive for being different? Even the best of the hunters had never bothered to apologize. Allison had been all wide eyed about it, but that was as much from rage at the wolves as it was horror for what had been done to them. Chris had frowned the whole thing off and was still walking around town cocky as anything after knowing what his psychopath family had done to others from the safety of his own home. He shivered, his animal's wild side close enough to the surface now that he was acknowledging how surrounded by predators on every damn side they were. "Werewolves are big game, like 'humans declare themselves hunters and murder any werewolf they can get their hands on' kinda big." he was shaking now, the stress finally finding release after all these months of hiding. "Please, I need you to be careful. I know you will want to get involved, I know it's your job, but I can't lose you too."

"Aww hell, Stiles. Come here." He didn't need more urging than that, practically throwing himself into his dad's hug. The Stilinski men squeezed each other with all the fervor of people who knew how easy it was for loved ones to slip away in the blink of an eye. 

"I guess we're both missing your mom pretty bad right now, huh?" Stiles nodded, unable to trust his voice as he rubbed his nose against his dad's old, worn tee. "I can't even tell you how much I worry about not being what you need." His father's hand settled over the back of his head, fingers tightening slightly in his growing fluff. before he realized and relaxed his grip. He patted down the mussed spot and pressed a careful kiss to his son's forehead. "I can only try my hardest to understand what you feel, but I can't really do more than try, you know? Not being a shifter like you, it drives me crazy sometimes." He sniffled just a little, and Stiles thanked every god in the universe that he had a dad to worry over him so hard. 

"I just want you to be happy kiddo, and if you need other supernaturals— "

"No!" He jumped foreword, almost knocking his head against his dad's chin as he tried to bury in as close as possible. His dad just braced back a bit, used to his son's sporadic movements but still only human against the bundle of nervous supernatural teen trying to become one with his shirt. "I mean— I _wish_ I could have that, god, I really do. But I can't." he mumbled into his dad's shoulder, felling sadness overtake anger at last. "At least, not with them. They're so fucked up, dad. They aren't at all like our colony. I'm just a chew toy at best and a liability at worst in their eyes."

"But Scott?" The helpless confusion in his father's voice was perfectly understandable. His dad only ever saw the happy side of their friendship. But game nights and pizza had fallen to the wayside when girlfriends and lacrosse came along. Sometimes, when he was being really honest with himself and it was like, a leap year or something, sometimes Stiles wondered if they hadn't been drifting apart for longer than the werewolf thing. It happened, right? You get thrown together with kids at school and form friendships based on proximity and mutual survival, and then you grow out of those relationships as you grow into your own person. Or something. It was still fucking depressing though. Of course torture and abandonment really helped more that natural process along.

"Dad. I lied about the lacrosse game. All those bruises, the cracked ribs I didn't tell you about because I was scared to death you would get involved? It was all because someone thought hurting me would send Scott a message." Speaking was a struggle again. Figures that any other day of the week he couldn't stop his mouth from running, but throw in feelings of deep betrayal and suddenly he was going mute. His dad was stiff in his arms now, and even though scent wasn't a big thing for his werespecies he could practically taste the bitter tang of retroactive fear his father was feeling for him. "Scott didn't even notice. I couldn't breathe right for weeks, I was black and blue all over, and he never even asked what happened. They—they kicked me out of the pack today." John made an indignant noise but Stiles was already shaking his head. "No. I think it's ok. I should have left before this. The pack wasn't good for me. Maybe it's because they are wolves and I'm really, really not, but I think it was more than that. Mom never would have let them treat her like this."

"Then neither should you." His dad was firm, and Stiles let himself soak in that confidence like a sponge. It would be good to trust himself again. To be able to trust his dad. "I'm glad you got out. Better to run away and live to fight another day. On that note, those kids are going to have to fight these fists if they think they can get away with hurting you like that ever again, are we clear? No more coming back all mangled, I have a weak heart you know."

Stiles chuckled, not much but hey, he was too tired for Stilinski sass. "No you don't, you lying liar who lies. You have high cholesterol and moderately high blood pressure. Hence the diet, which you need to stop breaking." Or not. The sass never stooped in this home and who was he to fight it?

John snorted, pushing the now playful teen off him. "Glad to know those SAT books are good for something, even if it's just for dramatic vocabulary so you can have the vapors over my dinner."

"Don't even start with me, old man. I'm going to make you a better, healthier dinner and then we gotta talk shop. There's lots to get done to get our house in fighting shape and not a lot of time to do it." He bounced over to the stove, second wind kicking in and nose wrinkling at the mess of takeout all over the counter. 

"Why? You think the kids from school are going to try and break in or something?" He very kindly didn't mention Scott, which made Stiles ache with both appreciation and sadness, "I thought they kicked you out. Why would they come sniffing around? Wait," John went pale so fast Stiles was immediately straining for the tell tail thump of an impending heart attack. "Do they know what you are? Are they hunting you?"

"Noooooooo. Nope. Dad it's ok. It's not that at all." He dropped the pan he had been pulling out and moved to give his dad a hug, kissing the top of his graying hair in a reversal of their positions only moments ago. "It is because of wolves, but they still think I'm human. Nobody knows but you, ok?"

"Not even Scott? Or the Hales? Shit, the animal attacks— the killings, it was all werewolf stuff wasn't it?"

Stiles groaned. "Yep. All werewolf crap. That's mostly over now, although we still need to keep an eye on the hunters in town. This other thing is a new pack. A stronger pack. It's all stupid, dick measuring werewolves and we are totally going to have it handled in no time, now that I don't have Alpha asshole on my case."

"Good grief. Alright then son." He released Stiles back to his cooking with a final, manly back pat. "Let's hear your plan first so we can make a better plan."

"Hey! Rude."

"Don't even start." He eyed the growing pile of vegetables on the counter. "I can either suffer your rabbit food in silence or lie to you about your plan making skills. I can't do both." John gave his son an innocent shrug. "Of course, I bet I could flatter you plenty if you let me put steak on whatever cabbage catastrophe you are about to cook up there."

"Just for that you can do the dishes yourself," Stiles grumbled, but he opened the freezer to grab a pre-portioned bit of steak. After all, his dad was being really good about all this. And Stiles had missed happy family dinners so much he could start crying, so instead he began to outline his perfectly acceptable and not at all flawed plan. "Ok, so wolfsbane is a thing—oh! And special werewolf killing bullets that aren't silver at all, which, how boring is that—"

🌼~🐇~🌼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should hop on the Rabbit!Stiles band wagon with me so I have more fic to read ;D Get it? HOP on? Someone end my suffering...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short but Im going to be sticking with small chapters for this fic so it can be updated more often than others im working on.

_I am a little bunny._   
_Eyes on the sides of my head._   
_I see to the left and right,_   
_Behind me and ahead._

🌼~🐇~🌼

It had taken several years, and many long school nights when he probably-definitely should have been sleeping, but all his work had resulted in what he proudly would call a veritable maze of a warren. The holes he had dug were deep and wide. Dry, with strong walls that wound around and under the Stilinski yard, as well as a few of the neighbor’s yards. The exits were carefully hidden and numerous, with fail-safes built in so that he could collapse any route if it needed to be sealed off. 

Originally his plan for his tunnels had been a mental exercise. He had dug it like a crazed rabbit survivalist bunker for fun, just to see if he could. Even as his mother had become increasingly paranoid and haunted about potential murderers, Stiles had never really believed it, preferring to pretend it was all a game. Regular game hunters weren’t much of a worry for a rabbit with supernatural abilities, and Hunters of the supernatural sort were mostly uninterested in Stiles’ kind, if they even believed other shifters existed. Rabbits were much better than wolves at laying low and not attracting attention. Not that a rabbit was adverse to causing a little trouble. Nope. He didn’t have a lot to compare himself to, only vague memories of a few distant relatives and the good times with his mom, but Stiles himself was a bundle of energetic mischief. And he was determined.

Between unhelpful wolves and even worse druids, Stiles had been reduced to cunning and a bit of sticky fingered, proactive thinking. He had pilfered exactly one large mason jar of mountain ash and two kinds of wolfsbane, and he had plans for the mountain ash today.

A little rummaging around in his drawers unearthed a small cotton bag with a simple drawstring that might have at one point held d&d dice but would now do nicely as a little bunny rucksack.

Ever so carefully Stiles funneled mountain ash into the bag until it was reasonably full, then drew the drawstring tightly closed to prevent spillage. Mountain ash did dick all to rabbit shifters, but that didn’t mean he wanted to waste it making a mess of his room.

“Dad I'm going under for a bit!” He called as he walked (ok maybe he bounced, just a little!) down the stairs, mood 100% improved now that he had a plan to execute. 

“Be safe!" John shouted absently from the living room, where he was sorting and reviewing their numerous ideas for keeping themselves and the good citizens of Beacon Hills safe. "Don’t eat any weird plants while you’re out. I'm heading to the station soon so call me if ANYTHING comes up, or you're grounded until forever.”

Stiles saluted him as he passed by. "I'll be fine dad. Keep an eye out for blood thirsty werewolves, but don't _look_ like you're keeping an eye out or they'll know we're keeping an eye out and then their eyes will be on us, ok?"

John gave him a look. "Are you high? I thought you said the magic charcoal doesn't have any effect on you?"

Stiles blew a raspberry at him. "Rude. I think you mean are you high up ON THE WEREWOLF FOOD CHAIN DAD, because the answer to that is yes. Rabbits are far superior in every way to wolves and in no way inconvenienced by magical charcoal. Although, wolfsbane is super deadly to humans so I can't imagine I would feel too good if I ate it. Hey, did you know that the poisoned sword in Hamlet was dipped in wolfsbane? Maybe we should order some rapiers, I'm pretty sure e-bay could hook us up."

"Whatever you say son. Please don't start binge shopping weapons until after you move out for college though, I want plausible deniability on this one."

With a jaunty salute to his father Stiles continued with his mission. He went out the back door, ears cocked for the sound of any unwanted visitors. He hadn’t actually shifted almost since this whole werewolf business had started, and there were weeds growing in front of the little shed tucked into the corner of the small fenced yard. Stomping them down he managed to wedge through the door, almost getting a face full of spiderweb for his troubles. Ugh. He was going to have to clean up in here. He had really let his life fall by the wayside.

Carefully, in case of more spiders, he pushed aside the empty boxes he kept over the trapdoor built into the floor of the shed. Once he got it open he quickly stripped down and focused. Fast and furry, always listening, ready for anything. Think small, fast rabbit thoughts.

The shift slipped over him like a particularly powerful twitch, a sudden jerk of his physical form down from human height to four legged that kind of felt like missing that last step on the stairs, without the heart-jerking fear. Instead, a peace settled over him like a warm, fur blanket, in spite of the increasing alertness that drove his prey instincts in this shape. Meh, he was used to being hunted whatever form he wore. At least as a rabbit he made much less of a target. 

Lopping forward he delicately took the pouch of wolfsbane with him, slipping his head and ears under the drawstring and pulling it along to the open trapdoor that lead down into his tunnels. Mentally, he plotted a route that would take him completely around the yard, deep enough to be safe from a bit of digging but close enough to the surface that his plan to keep the Alpha pack, and local mutts, away from his home without them having any idea how. He would have to leave a gap somewhere and dust it with mountain ash up topside so he could let in someone if he so choose. Maybe he would make that path skirt where they kept the garbage bins, for reasons. 

With a few careful nibbles to the corner of the sack he was off, loping confidently through his maze and trailing a thin line of mountain ash behind him as he thought as hard as he could about it lasting and sticking, crap like that. He would have to figure out a way to get his dad some wolfsbane bullets, maybe work on a plan that let a few other officers know to keep an eye out for weirdness that somehow also kept them in the dark. Bleh. It wouldn't be easy but he was tired of waiting passively to be attacked. A warren lived and died by its warning system and safeguards. Once, he had thought the pack could be the warning system that guarded his back, now he knew better than to trust without proof of reciprocation. 

In no time at all his bag was empty and he was popping up the exit hole near the backdoor, too tired to bother with the shed. Their back door had an old dog door just for him anyway, and he could go straight to the shower this way. Stiles pushed through the flap, giving a little head shake as his ears were pushed back. The house was silent so his dad must have left for work while he was under. Deciding to give himself a bit of a stretch since it had been so long since he had last shifted he took on the challenge of the stairs, springing up them with what was no doubt youtube worthy rabbit parkour. At the top he gave in, binking a little happy dance because whatever, no one was watching anyway and he missed being fluffy, so sue him. 

The door to his room was slightly ajar, and he pushed his way in, making a mental note to vacuum his carpet because crumbs felt nasty on his paws. Gross. He should maybe air out the place too. Even he could only handle so much teenage boy musk. 

He sighed, giving himself a hop-shake as he shifted back into full human teenager. His senses stretched up, no longer focused on the floor level. He could still see crumbs on the carpet though. 

A small gasp of breath snapped his brain out of fixation mode and he spun around in alarm.

Peter stared at him across the window sill in astonishment, one leg up over the edge as if he was frozen on entry.

🌼~🐇~🌼

(Bonus! Here's the breed I think Stiles would be as a rabbit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so awesome about this fic so you may have noticed I changed the chapter count. This fic will now have plot, when it was originally only going to be that first chapter. Whoops. I have one more chapter half written but after that I might slow down the posting a bit to figure out where I want to go with this and to get some other fics updated so please be patient!. xoxoxoxoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to walk to work through the middle of a legit hurricane this week. I am very tired so hopefully this isn't full of typos. RABBIT TIME.

🌼~🐇~🌼

“Fuck!” Stiles flailed, desperate for anything to cover his dick with. 

Maybe Peter hadn’t seen the whole rabbit thing! Maybe the look of genuine shock on his face was because he just caught Stiles full frontal— oh, who was he kidding. There's no way he would be that lucky.

“Stiles—" Peter almost tripped, but caught himself on the windowsill with an ominous scraping sound that probably meant there were new claw marks in his wall. "What in the world? Did you just shapeshift?_ How?_ When did this start?” 

The wolf finally eased inside, carefully setting a duffel bag down on the floor but coming no closer. He was almost deferential, hand moving to clasp behind his back and posture twitchy, but nonthreatening. Stiles could hear his heart beat though, and it was going a bit wild. Was he nervous? Hungry for bunny flesh? Why wasn't he flipping out? Or being evil? Surely learning that Stiles could shapeshift into a rabbit was worth something as blackmail materiel, and fuck! His secret was actually out. His mom had been so clear; never tell anyone except the family, not even other supernatural people! 

“Stiles are you alright? You smell — well. Like you’ve been working out to be honest.” Peter wrinkled his nose, a prissy curl to his lip that would normally have Stiles offended but was actually kind of funny for a dude who turned into a very big dog occasionally. Stiles wondered if Peter had ever sniffed someone's ass while shifted before. Probably not. Maybe nibbled a bit....and nope. Not the time for that thought. 

“I was warding the house,” he blurted out, the tension in the room broken enough for him to feel ok about grabbing a pair of pants. Shoving his legs into a loose pair of sweats he paused as a thought hit him. Elbowing Peter to the side, Stiles peered out the window with a scowl. Sure enough, the previously very convenient branches of the tree by his window reached down perfectly just over the fence of the yard, providing a clear path to his home that never required touching earth. Shit. “Obviously I forgot you flee-balls are good at climbing. I hadn't done the windows yet but fair warning, my home is no longer easy come easy go for you doggies.”

“I'm not sure you should be casting stones, what with your own.... furry problem,” Peter said, and he was acting really weird now, head still ducked down and all submissive or something. He hadn't even flashed his eyes when Stiles had elbowed him. Last time Stiles had tried to push past Derek he had gotten a bit strangled and his whole back was scraped up from being pushed against a wall. Peter however, hadn't responded, other than to move aside and wait him out.

“Back to my question. I'm assuming by your lack of anxiety that this isn’t a recent development for you.” Peter was looking at him now, but in a critical 'are you hiding any broken bones, open wounds, or similar delicate human issues that might kill you' kind of way, rather than the weird, overly sexual look he usually wore. 

“Yeah, there's a reason you don’t hear stories of crazed rabbits biting humans at the full moon and turning them into tiny fluff balls." Stiles shrugged, grabbing a shirt of the floor and giving it a sniff before pulling it on. His secret was well out after what Peter had seen, and chances were that Peter was at least _theoretically _aware of the existence of other shifters, if not rabbits in particular. "I’m a born shifter,” his throat caught slightly but he forced the emotions away, “On my mom’s side." He gave himself a full body shake, his muscles aching to run off all this anxious energy. "Anyway, what the heck are you doing here, Creeperwolf? Your pack made it pretty damn clear they were washing their hands of me.”

A low growl made Stiles spin on the spot, no longer hiding his supernaturally fast reflexes as he moved to cover his back. Peter coughed delicately, relaxing back into his semi-submissive hunch with obvious effort. “Well, they are complete morons. Let's not pretend I ever thought otherwise." He gave Stiles a meaningful look, but didn't seem inclined on continuing with any explanation that actually made sense. Unless...

"Wait- WAIT." Submissive posture, no retaliation for being pushed around -verbal or physical-, and then there was the-dare he say-_protective _growling? 

"Are you asking to join MY pack?" Stiles was sure his jaw was on the floor. He had officially gone bonkers, and Peter Hale was standing in front of him looking like he just sucked a lemon and asking to join him in his banishment from the wolves.

"Technically, if you're a rabbit, isn't it a colony and not a pack?"

"No! You aren't going to distract me. This is the best day of my life. You, Peter Motherfucking Hale, are asking me, some kid you almost ate for lunch while running around on your little revenge slasher spree, you're asking to join my pack. You!" he waved a hand at all of Peter, who was staring up at the ceiling as if praying for got to grant him the strength to not kill, "You're being submissive! You want me as your Alpha!"

"Obviously." Peter said stiffly, jaw clenched and gaze still firmly fixed several feet above Stiles' head. 

Stiles sat down on the bed with a heavy thud. He was floored, flabbergasted, completely blindsided. "You're serious?"

The wolf took another deep breath, then looked at the bed. Stiles patted it, and with a small growl Peter actually took a seat. His shoulder practically radiated heat where it brushed against Stiles, and he had to suppress the urge to lean in and demand Peter pet him. Head rubs, back rubs, shoulder rubs, all were great for humans and rabbits alike and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. 

"It's a policy of mine to not reflect too often on what could have been, or should have been." Peter said, staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused.

"That way lies madness?" Stiles tentatively offered when it seemed like Peter wouldn't go on.

The wolf grimaced. "Exactly. Yet there is a problem with not looking too closely at the past. It can occasionally make the present less rich, more a shade of what it could be, if only anyone remembered how it _should _be."

"You mean the pack." Stiles sighed. He didn't disagree. Unlike Peter, he had fond memories of his mother and their small family. It was later memories of another woman, no longer his mother, that were tainted by darkness and death. 

"Talia was by no means a kind alpha, but under her we were a family." Peter shrugged, the movement causing him to lean more firmly against Stiles. "I don't know how Derek lived after he left here, but he seems to have forgotten how it should feel, to have a real pack." 

Peter's nose was in Stiles hair now, and the man was taking unreserved breaths that was making Stiles want to squirm with contentment. 

"Strangely enough the only one who actually showed any understanding of the loyalty and hard work a pack requires to function harmoniously was you, the supposedly all-human boy who was barely pack at all. Only you cared about all of us regardless of how well you actually liked anyone. You were always ready to support or throw down for any member of the pack."

Stiles ducked his head at that, his ears burning with embarrassment. "Yeah and look what it got me. I had to kick Derek's teeth in just to leave the pack house safely, and that's with them not giving two fucks about whether I'm around or not." He fidgeted, but decided that today was a day of firsts and truths and all that so why not just put it all out there. 

"I don't know if I can give you what you need, Peter. You're a wolf, and I'm not. I'm not even technically an Alpha. I — we don't do that like wolves do."

A hand came up, threading through the slightly longer hair along the back of his head as Stiles pressed his face into the crook of Peter's neck. The wolf was blatantly scenting him now, and he really should stop him, but it felt so nice to be close to someone who wanted to be close to him. It had been stupid long since he had gotten anything but a life or death hug from anyone and this was just, nice. 

"Do you trust me, Stiles?" Peter asked, his chest vibrating with the sound. Stiles gave a small nod, not wanting to verbalize the conflicting feelings of I shouldn't, but you are the only one who I can rely on and this is so nice please don't leave even though you are a murderer and a predator and this is a bad idea.

"I trust you too. So please trust that if I say that being part of whatever or wherever you are will be enough to keep me stable and non murdery, possibly even, dare I say it, happy and content with my lot."

Stiles groaned, smacking him lightly on the thigh, but he didn't move from where they were cuddled now on his bed. "That's a big trust, Peter. If this ends up being some elaborate plot to have bunny stew I am going to be so pissed."

Peter chuckled, rubbing his nose along Stiles' ear while the boy squeaked and flinched as it tickled him. "Do you have a beta shift?" Peter asked, pulling them both back to sit more comfortably, backs to the wall. The tension from earlier was gone and Stiles was glad of it. He had been enjoying the high he was riding after his werewolf emancipation and plotting.

"Dude, no. That would be nightmare fuel." He shuddered. If the supernatural gods thought wolves should be eyebrowless, with horse-like noses and ridges he didn't even want to dream of what a human rabbit hybrid form would look like. Knife teeth? Claws? Ugh. "I would look like the Easter Bunny on Halloween. No thank you. Rabbits have way more common sense than that. I have all the power of a half shift and none of your side burn nonsense."

"Hmmmm, true. And you were very adorable, from what I saw," Peter teased.

"You bet your tail I'm adorable. Rabbits rule, wolves drool." Stiles said with a snotty accent, only to get a face full of pillow and a playful, affronted growling Peter pushing him off the bed.

🌼~🐇~🌼


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano is over and I have more than half a novel to show for it so yaaaaay. I'm going to be focusing on finishing that and this fic before my b-day on the 30th so hopefully work isn't too hard. I make no promises though! Especially since public school is a cesspool of winter viruses.   
This chapter also marks the start of Plot??? So expect it to develop from here on out. I can't believe my brain thought this could be a cute bunny one off...

🌼~🐇~🌼

"Let me get this straight," John said, arms crossed and gun on the small table that stood beside his favorite recliner, where he was now sitting like a judge about to pass a life sentence on them both. "You're telling me you killed your niece, most of the people involved in your family's murder, attacked several teenagers—including my son, who you also kidnapped and coerced into helping you, before he killed you in retaliation," Stile's felt his eye begin to twitch, and he could swear he could hear the sweat dripping down Peter's back. "All of this before you managed to haunt a teenager from the grave, making everyone including herself believe she had lost her mind, just until you could bring yourself back to life."

"Yes." Peter didn't offer anything else, but his posture wasn't aggressive or even defensive at all. These were the facts, minus the details, but they knew John was in possession of all the details at this point. 

"And now you are telling me you want to submit to my son's authority as alpha, to take orders from him, a teenager, and to bind yourself as part of our family because yours is made up of disloyal assholes?" His face didn't give anything away, but Stiles was offended at the tone of disbelief at the idea that anyone might think he, Stiles Stilinski, was leadership material. 

"Not family, just a pack. Who are mostly also teenagers," Peter said helpfully. "Disloyal, murdering, asshole teenagers. Who hate me and who also have all attacked your son in the past. Don't misunderstand me Sheriff—"

"John, please," he interrupted, expression not giving away any thoughts on the matter at hand. "Call me John."

"John. The pack is dangerous, even if it's through ignorance." Stiles twitched, fighting back the almost instinctual need to defend his friends because Peter was right, the pack were all, in one way or another, out of control. Besides that they weren't really friends anymore. So he let it be, instead watching his dad's reaction, knowing that his father's approval would make all this so much more helpful. 

"I won't say I'm not dangerous in comparison." Peter continued, a slight curl to his lip as if the very idea was insulting to him. "I absolutely am. But I dare you to say that you wouldn't have done anything to end the people who burned your family to death around you. If you had to hear everyone you've ever loved as they died in agony while you yourself burned. All because some bigot decided you were too different to be allowed to live." He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Neither Stilisnki said anything as he flexed claw tipped hands, centering himself. When he opened his eyes again he was calm, the wolf pulled back under the mask. "If you have questions about what happened I will do my best to answer them, but I refuse to act like my actions were all evil. Not anymore."

Stiles reached out, putting a gentle hand on the wolf's arm. "Hey, we get it. You've done some stuff that I don't agree with but I _know _you had reasons, and I'm not 100% happy with my own actions anyway." He looked down, the phantom smell of burning flesh in his nose. "I support you and I hope," he almost didn't want to look at his dad, but he forced himself to. His dad deserved to be treated like a reasonable adult instead of the villain in this argument. "I hope my dad will consider all the factors that went into your past actions before casting stones. Either way, you and I are pack, or as close as a rabbit and wolf can be to family. That's not a choice even, after everything."

John gave him a disapproving look. "Well I would hope that you would respect that as your father I have legitimate concerns about letting you adopt a grown man who has murdered people into your colony, or does being your father not mean anything to your superior bunny senses?"

Stiles gave a full bodied objection to this question, almost falling out of his chair in indignation. "That is so not what I meant, dad! I'm just saying that sometimes you don't get to choose your family, even if it's not really your family, or whatever." He subsided, sulking back into his own seat and crossing his arms petulantly. Sometimes words were his bitch, and sometimes he sounded as articulate as a toddler. Life sucked. 

"Even if Stiles was less inclined to submit on this matter, even though he has every right to make such choices being the Alpha," Peter may have been submissively avoiding eye contact, and really Stiles was going to have to talk to him about this because it was starting to freak him out, but he didn't seem inclined to pull any punches with his wording, "I of course, would prefer to have your acceptance," Peter finished, his whole demeanor still hanging in that submissive, beta posture. "I want this to work, and am willing to do many things to prove that I am trustworthy. Stiles is very important to me, and I hope I've shown that I do not condone the way that my nephew's pack has treated your son."

"He deserves a chance, dad." Stiles said, hoping that Peter hadn't oversold it and pinged his dad's bullshit sensors. 

"That's a start at least," John sighed. "I admit, when Stiles told me you all were werewolves I had about three seconds where I was truly relieved. I've never been happy with the fact that he is alone in this supernatural stuff. Claudia tried to teach me everything she could once it was clear that Stiles had inherited the shifter genes, but it's still second hand knowledge to me, compared to even a werewolf."

"Are there no others left?" Peter asked, his countenance weighted with all the experience of someone who had been the victim of genocide. "You don't have contact with other shifter branches of your family still around? I know werewolves are a dying breed since hunters have given themselves free reign to wipe us out, but there were never more than whispers and anecdotes about other shifters to confirm or deny their existence, much less their relative prosperity. I had always hoped that this was because other shifters had found ways to keep themselves safer than we had." 

Peter didn't expect the answer to be yes, obviously, otherwise why would he have never met another rabbit shifter? He didn't have much in the way of empathy for other people right now, not when no one had spared him even a moment's kindness in so long, but he didn't want to be the one to bring up terrible memories for his new pack. But to his surprise both Stilinskis seemed bemused by this question. 

"Huh," John said slowly, leaning back in his seat with a thoughtful expression. "Well, I'm not sure?"

The buzzing sound of the fridge from the kitchen was louder than anything else in the awkward silence that followed, Peter being too surprised to have anything to offer. 

"Well, I guess not?" Stiles said, but he didn't sound all that confident. "I mean, obviously we don't have any other rabbit shifters here in town right now, but, uhh." He looked at his dad.

"Claudia had a lot of family back east a bit," John said, but kind of just shrugged when they looked at him expectantly, waiting for any information he had to offer. They stared at each other awkwardly until Peter coughed indelicately. 

"Doesn't your Grampop send you birthday cards still?" John asked, looking a bit like this was beyond his scope of expertise. 

"Grampy sends me $20 every birthday and Hanukkah, and I send him my school photo and a letter every year." Stiles confirmed, blushing a bit. "Mom always made me write out the card myself and I didn't think she would want me to forget him..."

"Are you really telling me that you've been toughing your whole supernatural existence out all on your own because picking up a phone and calling your grandfather is too much work?" Peter said, voice almost cracking with indignation. "How in the world do you lose track of an entire supernatural family? You never thought to think that they could help you? That maybe they were worried about you or had anything to teach you about your supernatural side?"

"I mean, we did ok I think!" Stiles objected while John shrunk back in his seat like he thought he could avoid being yelled at. "We muddled through and it all turned out fine. Wererabbits aren't exactly the drama queen, walking murder machines that adolescent werewolves are."

"You did almost get poisoned by that grandma down the road when she got sick of you eating her herb garden," John said, but wilted under Peter's judgmental glare. "Can you cut us some slack? After Claudia passed anything to do with her was kind of a tender subject."

"Would this 'Anything' include the untrained alpha powers she passed on to your son? His ability to turn into a full, and very vulnerable small animal at will?" Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ok fine. The past is in the past and we can't change that. But we are going to make you functional people so help me moon goddess. " They could really feel the judgment in his glare. "You really should be concerned that I'm the one telling you this. Now please tell me you have contact info for the whole shifter side of your family."

"Umm, I have his address on an old card here somewhere," Stiles said, suitably chastised. He knew that he and his dad had kind of let things slip after his mom died. Hell, it was only in this last year that they had stepped up and stopped eating takeout for every meal, and look how quickly that had fallen by the wayside in the wake of weredrama. Adulting was hard and he didn't enjoy being called out on it, but Peter was right. If the recently dead and insane murder wolf was telling you how much you failed at life then you should probably make an effort.

He slunk off to his room, steps much less peppy than they had been just recently, and spent a good fifteen minutes digging through old homework assignments, random internet trivia pages, and misc crap on his desk before he found an old birthday card still in it's envelope, his grampy's home address written in shaky cursive on the top corner. 

He trudged downstairs, seeing that both Peter and his dad had barely moved an inch while they waited for him. His dad was leaning on the back of his favorite armchair while Peter spread out semi indecently on the sofa. Stiles slunk into the room, waving the envelope in sarcastic triumph when Peter simply raised one judgmental eyebrow at how long he had been searching. 

"Well dad, I guess you did just say we could use some other supernatural creatures on our side," Stiles said dubiously, looking at the envelope like it might come alive and bite his hand off. John sighed, and went to the kitchen, muttering something about needing a drink. Stiles didn't think there was any bad blood between his dad and his in-laws but then again his dad hadn't made the effort to reach out to them on his own so who knew. 

"Snail mail," Peter said with a long suffering sigh. "How delightful. Hopefully the Alpha Pack respects the efforts of our postal service and respectfully waits until we get a reply before launching any deadly plans."

Stiles sniffed in his best prissy Lydia impression. "I think that's more of a _you _problem. Werewolf drama and all."

Blue eyes flashed at him before muting as Peter looked away. "Unfortunately you already accepted me as part of your Pack, and I doubt rabbit alphas are all too different from wolves in regards to possessive behavior. Werewolf problems are your problems now whether you like it or not."

Instantly Stiles felt contrite. He tumbled over his own feet to fall into the couch space beside the wolf. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that? Peter? I'm glad you're here and of course any threat to you is a threat to me. You know how I roll, I was just spit balling. Of course the other wolves in town can all eat my fuzzy ass for all I care but I am not letting this Alpha Pack hurt you or anyone else."

Not quite at ease again, Peter still let himself be placated. "As you say. Do you mind if I have a look at that file you made on the Alphas? I didn't get a chance at our last, unfortunate meeting."

"Of course," Stiles said, pausing before internally shrugging and going with his gut. He slid forward, tucking his head up under Peter's chin with a demanding push, essentially rubbing his scent all over the wolf's neck and face. "Anything for you bae. Let Alpha Daddy hook you up."

Peter made a very strange sound, halfway between dying buffalo and aroused lion, but quickly cut it off with a Hale typical growl. "Careful there Stiles, wolves don't usually appreciate fangs at their throats."

"Good thing I don't have fangs then. Besides, I prefer greens over meat, although I don't think anyone in their right mind would turn down cheeseburgers, at least occasionally." Stiles rubbed his head back and forth along Peter's chin until the other man moved a hand up to pet at his hair. It was blissful, and for a moment he almost forgot that he had a purpose beyond getting cuddles from his beta. It took a strong force of will to focus and not just melt into a happy puddle in the man's lap. "Forgive me? I know I'm an asshole sometimes but I don't want you to ever think I don't want you here."

"Fine, since you begged." Peter said, and Stiles could feel the truth of it in his relaxing frame even as the words came out snide., especially as the petting didn't stop. They both used their assholery to cover up their weak points, and unfortunately or fortunately, they both had a weakness for belonging. 

"Ahem," Stiles jerked back, almost smacking his head into Peter's jaw when his dad cleared his throat, setting a beer that was ostensibly for Peter down on the table with deliberate force.

"So the Alpha Pack," Stiles said, throwing himself back off the wolf's lap and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "No known home base, many known or rumored encounters with other Packs. The only members I have been able to get a positive ID on are Deucalion and Ennis. Although the total number of alphas seems to fluctuate slightly its always around four or five. I imagine that's mostly because it's hard enough for two alphas to stand being in close proximity without ripping each other to bits, much less a whole pack of them." He pulled the stack of files and print outs closer on the coffee table from where he and his dad had been reviewing them yesterday, ignoring his dad's raised eyebrows as he handed them to the wolf. His dad had no high ground. Everybody loved petting Stiles. It was a scientifically proven fact and no one could judge him for taking advantage of it. Nature didn't give him many natural advantages so he would always take what he could get. 

Peter sniffed, taking the file and looking it over closely. "We aren't savages, Stiles. It's perfectly possible for two alphas to peacefully coexist. Of course that's usually with other mitigating factors such as shared blood and strong, peaceful packs."

"Well they have the strong part down at least. I haven't gotten any information directly from a pack that they silenced." It had been incredibly frustrating actually, and one of the main causes for many sleepless evenings leading up to his confrontation with Derek over his ungrateful and unacceptable behavior. He had slaved over what he had managed to piece together and a lack of sleep definitely fueled his final choice to end his relationship with the whole lot of them. "It's their MO. Packs who risk bringing the supernatural to light, or bringing hunters down on themselves get a visit from the Alpha Pack and are never heard from again. That's all I was ever able to find, just "never heard from again" over and over. So annoying."

"And worrisome. Not a single wolf has escaped to spread word?" John said, rubbing his chin as he stared into the distance, considering this. "That means they have no exceptions to whatever law they are laying down on these wolves. They judge the pack as a whole and the whole pack disappears."

"There were a few packs that reported the Alpha Pack in the area, but they left without any actual encounters." Stiles said, searching for the page he needed. This was the source of the confusion over how many alphas were really in the pack. The wolves that had reported sightings could only ever be considered valid if Deucalion or Ennis were spotted because all the other's were random descriptions of lone wolves with no sure connection to the alpha pack. "Like, they might have been doing recon but it didn't pan out?"

"Perhaps the packs didn't fit whatever criteria they use to justify whatever actions they are taking against the others." Peter seemed troubled by this, forgetting to keep his submissive posture up as he leaned in to look at the files intently. It was a better look on him and Stiles made a mental memo to talk to the wolf as soon as his dad was out of the way. He figured Peter would be pissy about losing face in front of the sheriff and Stiles did not want to deal with another pissy Hale this week, buncha drama llamas all two of them. 

"Yeah, of the packs I could confirm went silent none of them had allies or any real history with their land. Most were a lot like our - like Derek's pack. New, reckless, bitten or omega wolves."

"Loud and unstable," Peter confirmed. "Either looking to aggressively expand or not particularly worried about flying under the radar. Really, if we weren't the next on their hit list I would be tempted to applaud their efforts to keep the were community under wraps. These packs would have eventually attracted the attention of either hunters or the regular human populace and even if they hadn't they were barely more than thugs."

"So our local delinquents have attracted the werewolf version of the FBI?" John groaned. "Great. And I bet they either know about both of you or will be able to sniff it out."

"Peter's probably going to come under attack just for being a local wolf. Never heard from again means no loose ends, and even if they accepted that he is no longer part of the pack he is still tainted by association." The wolf had been right about that, there was no disassociating him from the other werewolves in town.

No loose ends meant no wolf left alive to tell tales. 

🌼~🐇~🌼


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is ok. I am so damn tired. Today was a day. Im being let out of work a month early because all schools are shutting down for coronavirus. What a mess.

"Ok, here goes nothing," Stiles muttered to himself. He could do this. He was badass. Stiles Stilinski had stood toe to toe against bloodthirsty werewolves and hunters alike without flinching. He had drop kicked Derek Hale in the face. Calling his grandpa should be no big deal. 

No big deal at all. Not a problem for a badass like him.

Nope.

Any minute now he was going to push call on the number blinking innocently on the old landline phone screen. Actually, he was pretty sure it shouldn’t be doing that. Maybe it wasn’t charged all the way? They never used it, and actually they only still had a landline just in case John somehow broke both his phone, his pager, and the car radio system. For all Stiles knew the phone was on its last legs and would die before he could send the call through.

Quickly, he hit the send button before his nerves could get the better of him again. Or before the two older men staring at him judgingly actually decided to mock him verbally instead of just with body language. Cowards. He knew they kept their mouths shut for fear of being forced to take his place at the altar of grandparent phone communication. 

The call did ring through, easing a little of the tension in his stomach. He hadn’t even been sure the number would work, so that was a good sign at least. Googlefu for the win. Getting a working number off an address was so much faster than mailing a letter. 

It took an almost unreasonably long time before the distant mechanical ringtone clicked, and a wobbling, feminine voice picked up with a “Hello? Gajos residence, Mirim speaking.”

“Oh, uh, yes. Hello,” he fumbled, thrown off by the lovely phone etiquette and the fact that for some reason he felt almost like this was some sort of formal job interview. Right, manners were a thing with people who used phones to actually make calls instead of just texting with little to no regard for the rules of english grammar. He cleared his throat, awkwardly angling the receiver away last second before returning it to his face. “Umm, grandma? This is Stiles, uhhh, Stilinski? Stiles Stilinski?” He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his audience and kicking himself for not making the call in private.

“Stiles?” The old voice sounded confused, and he sighed, gallantly resisting the urge to smash his head against the counter top until he blacked out.

“Yeah grandma, it’s Mieche, Claidia’s son? I go by Stiles now though. How have you been?” A tightness was threatening to make itself known in his throat and eyes, but he steadfastly ignored the burning. It had been too hard thinking about anything related to his mom for a long time after her passing, and he had long since learned to accept that things had been lost along the way to accepting her absence as he and his dad had eventually pulled themselves back together. “I hope you’ve been well, you and grandpa.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Stiles had to hold the phone away from his face to check that the call was still connected.

“Oh Mieche,” Mirim sounded just as choked up as Stiles was pretending not to be. “We’ve been just fine, dear. I'm so glad you’ve called though. We missed hearing from you...Fryderyk! Come get the phone! It’s our Mieczyslaw!” Peter and Stiles both winced at the sudden volume of the shout, but the woman on the other end just continued to holler until a man was taking the phone from her with a very surprised “Mieczyslaw? Is it really my grandbaby?”

“Oh, uhh, yes.” Stiles stuttered out, giving Peter a baleful look when the man mouthed _ Mieczyslaw _ incredulously at John, who shrugged, unrepentant. “Hello Grampy. I’m really sorry I haven’t called before. I uhh, got your letters and stuff.”

“And we got your postcards!” Enthusiasm made the man yell a bit louder than a phone call dictated, but Stiles supposed it wasn’t every day your estranged grandchild reached out to you and he could cut his grampy some slack for pulling a Ron Weasley. “You’ve really been growing these last few years. We’ve shown all the family, and you write such lovely letters too. It’s good to hear from you Mieche,” the old man said, voice falling softly at the end, no doubt thinking of the daughter he would never hear again. “It’s really good to hear from you,” he finally said, clearing his throat slightly, and Stiles felt his own tightening with emotion.

“Me too. I was actually calling to see, if um,” his hand was growing sweaty on the receiver as his words jumbled up more than usual. “Well, dad and I were hoping to reconnect with the whole family,” he said, a frisson of nerves suddenly overtaking him. Peter edged closer, no doubt sensing his sudden distress. He was probably stinking up the kitchen with anxiety, something the other wolves had often complained about. “You know...see how the whole,” he kind of flailed, forgetting this was a verbal conversation and that distant relatives probably wouldn't be fluent in Stilese hand language anyway. Still, how does one imply to their grandparents that they know the family isn't quite human, when they aren’t one hundred percent sure the grandparents aren’t human? “That is to say we’ve just been wondering how the, mmmm..._ Colony _ is doing?” 

Apparently you just come out and say it, like a dumb ass. That's how. 

“My dear boy you should have called us earlier!” He could hear his grandma in the background demanding something and thumping sounds that seemed to indicate more arrivals had been attracted by the conversation. “Are you still in the same little town? We will fly over at once! This is marvelous! Honey! Mieczyslaw wants to meet the colony! Call up the cousins! We’ll empty the whole warren and make a vacation of it.”

Another full body flail that was completely lost on the old man now happily rambling about tickets and house sitting but was concerning to the two men sitting at the table with him, although Peter was the only one who could hear full well what was happening and he seemed torn between wariness and wanting to laugh at Stiles’ reaction.

“Oh, you don’t need to come over, really, we don’t want to set you guys out-“

“Nonsense! We have been worried about you, all on your lonesome out there. Unless-” Fryderyk finally stopped his steamrolling as his tone dipped into something more conspiratorial. “Tell grampy. Are there any bouncing young ladies that have caught your fancy? We wouldn’t want to interrupt anything delicate for you.”

“No! Well, I mean-“ Stiles wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't give the wrong impression. There was no one like what his grampy was implying, but he didn’t exactly want to out his loserdom like that, daydreams of several, terrifying and not to be named individuals aside. But this was clearly his only chance at stopping the rabbit invasion from happening. “I'm not alone, really. I have dad of course, and some- at least one very err…” Fuck. He had no idea what the family would think of the mess he had gotten mixed up in. Hunters and werewolves and stupid teenage drama. He was a disaster and it would all be laid bare sooner rather than later. “Uhh, I have this guy. A strong werewolf guy. Friend. We’re just friends. Pack friends, you know, like werewolves do.” He bit his tongue, literally, desperate to stop digging himself further into this hole. Peter just put his face in his hands and sighed. John made himself another coffee, probably out of second hand embarrassment for his fail spawn.

“A werewolf!” His grandfather sounded delighted, which was not at all what anyone in the Stilinski residence would have expected from a rabbit shifter. “How odd! But I suppose they would be useful around the house eh?” The voice trailed off thoughtfully, and Stiles could hear what sounded like an unfortunately large group of people tittering in the background static. “Well no matter, grandma will be thrilled to hear you two haven’t been wasting away by yourselves all these years. We were really quite worried you know, but you did keep sending cards and Claudia had been very firm about wanting to found a whole new colony out there before inviting the cousins in to muck it up.” The wistfulness was back again, and Stiles suddenly felt desperate to change the subject.

“So, if you did come down to visit, how many cousins would we be talking here?” 

John kicked him from under the table, but Stiles couldn’t help it. He needed more information about the family and he had the sneaking suspicion that grandma was already purchasing tickets if what he could hear being discussed in the background was correct. Besides, his mom had always had a way of_ getting _ her way that she had strongly implied was not only a Stilinski trait. 

“Oh, all of them! My dear boy, no one will be able to keep away once they hear you’ve called. The whole colony will be positively jumping to visit.”

John was making frantic NO motions as his father in law rambled on enthusiastically over the line, unaware of the chaos his announcement was causing the Stilinski household.

The rest of the call was a blur, during which Stiles got an earful of family gossip that meant absolutely nothing to him, all while his father had conniptions in the background and Peter was taking notes of some sort on his phone. It didn’t escape his notice that his grampy cunningly avoided giving an actual head count, and as he finally hung up after making sure they had his current contact info he had the feeling that was a deliberate attempt at discombobulation so as not to spook them over the army of people about to descend upon their home.

“Ummm, so that’s a thing,” He said awkwardly, staring down at the phone in his hands and feeling slightly betrayed. He really should give up on phone calls. They always seemed to backfire in spectacular ways on him. Texting was much better, and also less painful when ignored or answered in new and uncomfortable ways.

“I’m in shock,” John said, looking blankly up at the ceiling as if god had answers for why his life had taken such a drastic turn. “Why is it that you have the courage to fight evil werewolves, stand up to shitty friends, and face down human murderers, but you can’t tell your grandpa not to bring the whole family over for a surprise visit?”

Stiles held the phone out to him. “Why is it that you rely on your only son to do your dirty work? You knew the dangers when you married mom. I was powerless to choose this crazy family.”

“Well hell,” John groaned, leaning forward to drop his elbows on the table and his head into his hands. “Guess we gotta clean up around here.”

Stiles twitched, not liking the sound of that at all. “Umm, dad? Do you think grampy is planning on staying in the guest room? Because I was picking up vibes that he isn’t coming alone. Like, at all.”

“I’m somewhat concerned he might be bringing unto the seventh generation after that call,” Peter said, having joined Stiles in his phone staring hobby. “No wonder your mother wanted a little breathing room. Just how big is your extended colony, I wonder.”

“No fucking idea dude.” Stiles ignored his father’s halfhearted protest at his language. If he was allowed to invite possibly dozens of rabbit shifters into the middle of a werewolf turf war then he was allowed to swear, damn it.

"Grampy was surprisingly alright with the whole werewolf thing," John remarked thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have thought you guys would get along. What with the whole carnivore versus herbivore issue.”

Stiles and Peter looked at each other. 

"Well, I can't speak for other rabbit shifters but," Stiles thought back on the last few months. "Huh. You know, I never really felt threatened by the fact that you guys are werewolves." Peter gave a disbelieving scoff, and Stiles smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "No, really. I mean, I was sure as hell intimidated by you trying to eat me in the dead of night, or occasionally Derek when he got particularly grumpy. But that was just because you were being threatening, not because you were wolves. I was also the smallest bit scared of Chris and a whole lotta fucking scared of crazy Kate." He shuddered.

"So there was never any instinct that warned you that there were predators around?" Peter asked, voice thoughtful. 

"Not exactly. I knew you were powerful? It's hard to explain, but it's not like there was some scared little prey animal in my mind yelling at me to run and hide from the big bad wolf or anything like that. More like, hey, these dudes aren't human so watch them." Stiles shrugged. "It could also be that I'm technically an alpha. Not to quote any massively traumatizing children's literature or anything, but while you could kill me easily enough you would have to catch me first." 

"I think you undervalue your own strength," Peter murmured, still thoughtful. "You did after all manage to knock Derek on his ass with a single kick. He's just as much alpha as you are. Even without the element of surprise, you have a lot of power hidden under all those unfortunate flannels."

"Fuck off," Stiles said cheerfully, his inner rabbit puffing up in pride at his wolf's praise even as his dad reached over with the TV remote to bop him on the head for being rude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses for all yall who have been waiting. Hopefully I can post lots of fic soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to update this ages ago, sorry. Everything has been pretty fucked. Hopefully this cheers up some people. The pack is really bitchy in this fic so if you want less bitchy pack check out We Found Each Other, where there is also a lot less swearing XD (Somehow I removed half the swears and yet it's still chock full...)

🌼~🐇~🌼

Stiles had never been much aware of the finite amount of hours in a day, and days in a week, and so on before werewolves had smashed their way into his life. These days though, he bemoaned his over-complicated schedule as a crime fighting, monster bashing, shape shifting alpha and AP credit taking A+ GPA high schooler. There weren’t enough hours in the day to go to class, do homework, stop evil alpha werewolves, and ready the Stilinski home for a visit from grandpop and the colony.

“I understand that education is important, but really, it’s not like public school teaches anything that can't be learned better elsewhere, and I don’t like the idea of you being surrounded by those out of control mutts.” Peter complained, as he had been all morning once he realized that Stiles had every intention of going to school as normal that Monday. It was equal parts annoying and endearing. And the latter only because Stiles knew that Peter was on edge over the newness of their pack bond and the danger to his new alpha. It had been a long time since Peter had anyone to care for and any threat towards Stiles, no matter how small, had been making the wolf twitchy.

“I hope you have a plan for when they forget that they can’t savage people in public over minor disagreements.” Peter had been sulking ever since John had shot down his argument for Stiles to stay home from school until the Alpha Pack had been dealt with.

Stiles took a deep breath, counted to ten, reminded himself that he was also incapable of just letting things go so stabbing Peter with a fork wouldn’t be very fair.

“Of course I have a plan. The plan is to act like any reasonable teenager being threatened with a pounding at school. I’m going to tell a teacher if they try to fuck with me and I’m going to avoid empty classrooms and hallways.” He rolled his eyes, shoving his bagged lunch into his backpack and zipping the whole thing closed. “Seriously dude. I’ve been dealing with their anger issues for longer than they’ve had the claws to back them up. I may not be anyone’s favorite student but no teacher is stupid enough to turn a blind eye to someone bullying the Sheriff’s son. Perks and all.”

He stepped up behind Peter as the wolf determinedly ignored him and scrubbed viciously at the mug in his hand. The wolf smelled faintly of frustration to his less sensitive rabbit nose, but it was enough to make him lean in, lightly thumping his forehead against the older man’s back comfortingly.

“You seem rather sure of that, and yet Beacon High has a shockingly high rate of murders and animal attacks.” He set the mug down on the drying rack with just a little too much force, but he didn’t move out of their odd half embrace. “I wouldn’t trust anyone in this town to notice a werewolf mauling a teenager in the middle of the day during class in a full room of students.”

“He has a point,” John said, walking into the kitchen and tucking his thumbs into his uniform belt with a worried frown. “I think I’ll make a quick call to the principle. Maybe a few unsubtle hints about anti bullying programs will be enough to keep the teachers on their game today.”

He reached over, ruffling Stiles’ hair until the boy pulled away from Peter with a sigh.

“Better get going, son. No point in showing up if you’re late anyway.”

“Yesh. I’m going, I’m going.” Stiles gave the wolf a last headbutt and his dad a hug before peeling out.

“If the ingrates give you any trouble then you better kick their asses or call me. I will be happy to teach them manners.” Peter yelled after him as he saluted then both and headed out the door.

🌼~🐇~🌼

The problem with avoiding the pack lay with how large and varied in intellect they were. Beacon High already wasn't a very large school, and between Lydia and Stiles taking AP classes, Scott and Erica struggling along in the easiest classes, and the combo of Issac and Boyd flying under the radar with average grades and course loads, the whole pack managed to have at least one person in each of Stiles’ classes. There had been a time, at least a day or two, that he had actually been excited at the prospect of having friends, or at least mutually aware compatriots who he could trust. Those dreams were shattered quickly as Lydia continued to pretend she didn't know who he was, Scott still dumped him for Allison and the others were varying levels of antagonistic towards him in ways that seemed to change with the weather.

Now it wasn't just a disappointment that they were shitty to him in every class, it was an active issue, because the pack seemed to want something from him. He had hoped their pride would drive them to ignore him. He assumed he was in for dirty looks and shoulder checks in the hallways. Instead he found himself circled in at his Jeep, just shy of escaping to freedom for the day after having successfully dodged, blocked, and outright fled from contact with them all day.

"Well now I'm just confused. I thought we all mutually agreed to not be friends anymore and to never interact again?" He spit-balled as he scanned the parking lot for a teacher. "I don't see how surrounding me in public is keeping me 'safe' and 'unknown'." He said, putting as much sarcasm into his finger quotes as possible, since they somehow managed to miss the memo about staying the fuck away.

"You're being ridiculous. You know that's not what we meant at all—"

Stiles sighed, loudly. "Who here, other than you Scott, can say with a straight face that I'm their friend. Jackson? Feel like confessing you actually like me? Boyd? Do you want to profess BFFhood or are you trying to remember my name right now. How about you Issac? Do you enjoy being around me? Ladies?"

"Oh stop it with the dramatics, Stilinski. You're in danger whether you want to admit it or not," Jackson sounded bored, but apparently not enough to fuck off. "We're going through a lot of trouble to keep you safe."

"Well that's nice. Insulting, considering how much I've saved all your asses. Good demeaning use of my last name, I_ did _notice that not one of you will say we are friends. Which, don't worry. I don't like any of you people either." He waved a hand. "No Scott, not even you after the way you've been treating me. So like I said, your alpha demanded that I have no contact with your pack, so shoo."

Scott looked like he was going to protest, but Issac growled, punching the truck bed of some poor, random student's car that unfortunately for them was sitting innocently beside him.

"God, do you ever shut up? You're right. We don't like you, who would? Derek told us to get those files on the Alpha Pack from you though, so here we are, wasting time with you."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the huffing and puffing. "What files? I thought I was the useless human. I wasn't aware I had anything you wanted, and since I haven't heard a please or thank you for anything I ever did for you assholes I figured what I was doing must not have been important."

"Stop posturing and give me what you have. This is bigger than your ego." Lydia said, face blank. She clearly remembered something about what he said, about the pecking order in the pack now that he was out.

There was no sign of anyone stepping out to save him anytime soon. Other students probably saw the local gang about to beat the shit out of some nerd and decided they forgot something in their locker and they couldn't leave school without it. He was going to have to have words with his dad about upping his lecture game if this is the results of chewing out the school staff about keeping an eye on bullying. He was going to have to keep stalling if he wanted to get out of this without a fight. He could easily out run the pack, but they didn't seem to have put two and two together about his ability to jump kick their alpha in the face so he didn't want to remind them that something wasn't quite right with poor little Stiles. 

"You said I was useless, so I threw it out. No need to clutter my space with useless paper that might connect me to the big, bad, dangerous Alpha Pack." He knew his heart gave away nothing, not with how hard he was imagining burning anything that would help these backstabbing idiots. Besides, he didn't really believe any of them had the training and control to tell the difference between a lie and truth just through senses. 

"Give us those files, Stilinski." Issac said, human teeth bared in an attempt at a snarl. "Or I'll make you." 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Scott? Not even going to pretend anymore? Just going to stand on his side while he threatens me?"

"We really need that info," Scott pushed. It was the same sad play as always, and Stiles felt tired and annoyed as he watched his ex-friend make what he used to think was pure puppy eyes at him, but now came off as quite frankly bad acting. "Come on man," he barreled on, blissfully ignoring the annoyed twist Stiles could feel his face pulling. "I know you're pissed, but you don't want people to get hurt because of this." 

"What he means is; give us the files or _you'll_ get hurt because of this," Erica said, flicking her claws in and out with a grin. "So do us and yourself a favor and stop whining."

“You know, it sounds to me like you should try doing your own dirty work, and stay away from guys who don't want to talk to you.” A voice said from behind him.

Stiles tensed. He hadn't heard anyone sneaking up on him from behind, having been too focused on the threat in front of him. Stupid, he berated himself. He turned, slowly, as if he didn't give two shits who was at his back or how many wolves now surrounded him on all sides, for the new guys had to be wolves to have snuck up so effectively on his super ears. In fact, he was betting that these were born wolves, even as he mentally kicked himself up the ass for allowing himself to be so thoroughly blocked in.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk to you.” An almost identical voice chimed in from the opposite side as the new arrivals pincered him neatly. They had moved in close enough to touch Stiles, but seemed to have no immediate intent to maim. “I don’t blame him. Its pretty shitty to gang up on someone.”

“Cornering someone and insulting them? Threatening them? Not very friendly at all.” The twin wolves moved fluidly, perfectly in sync, to stand on either side of Stiles, much to his surprise. There was an aggressive aura about them for sure, but he was positive at this point that it was all directed toward Scott and the others. He wasn't included at all.

The grumpier of the two cracked his knuckles. “Looks like bullying to me. Like a whole pack of cowardly bullies.”

Holy crap.

"Are you guys actually defending me?" He said, incredulity making him half shout his epiphany in shock.

Both twins snorted, giving each other one of those meaningful inside looks that spoke paragraphs in a glance. It made Stiles' gut twinge with envy and discomfort. He and Scott used to be those friends. They never needed words, no matter how much they had enjoyed sniping at each other and bouncing off each other's energy.

"Any reason we shouldn't?" The less grumpy one said, after the grumpy twin communicated whatever it was that he was trying to send psychically. "I think anyone who saw some guy getting bullied by a bunch of pissed off that had them outnumbered six to one would have issues with it. Plus there's the fact that this group is one step away from a pack of feral omegas."

"Who the fuck are you? How do you know about the pack?" Erica snarled, claws fully out now with no care for any human who might be walking by. There was something going on by the doors to the school that made Stiles hopeful that some humans might actually get their shit together and walk by soon.

"You can't tell?" Grumpy asked, unimpressed. "Are you dumbasses actually omegas? Because that was a joke but hey, your senses must be pretty shit if you can't even tell who or what we are." 

"We aren't omegas," Scott said, surprisingly indignant for someone who had fought nail and fang against jointing the pack in the first place. "Don't make us ask again, who are you? What has Stiles told you?"

Stiles gaped at him. "What have I what now?" He could not believe this day. Peter was right, he should have just skipped school. 

Both twins stared at Scott for an eerie moment, each taking a deep breath in sync.

“You aren’t the alpha.” Said Less Grumpy, no question.

“But he wants to be, doesn’t he?" Grumpy sneered. "He thinks being alpha means doing whatever you want, whenever you want, to whoever you want.” Disdain and disgust were almost palpable on the air.

“Pretty much. But to be fair, most of them think that’s the point of being werewolves. They’re in it for the power trip.” Stiles shrugged at the almost unanimous glares he received from his former friends. “What? Don’t get pissed at me because someone else has you pegged at a glance. It’s not my fault you’re all so easy to read.”

“No wonder we couldn’t find your alpha to contact him,” the Grumpy one muttered. “Your whole group has serious brain damage.”

“Here,” the Other twin said, pulling an envelop from his backpack and giving the group a condescending look when they all stepped back as if expecting a bomb or something. “Consider this a formal invitation from alpha Deucalion.”

“An invitation to what?” Scott asked, making no move to take the letter.

“An invitation for our packs to meet, you idiot. We know you got the council’s warning. Tell your alpha to grow up and show up.” He shoved the letter into Issac’s chest before turning to face Stiles. The other twin moved up beside him, the pair forming a solid wall of muscle between him and the pack.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Scott was demanding, but the twins ignored him, full attention on Stiles, who stared them down as his thoughts flipped through various escape routes and possible throw-down scenarios. It sounded like the Alpha Pack was already seriously pissed off with Derek's pack and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that they might try to hurt him as a way to get at the wolves.

But they didn’t make any move to touch him in any way.

“Umm, can I help you?” He asked, trying not to be creeped out by the twin stares. It was like the Chad version of The Shining.

“I think you have it backwards,” Grumpy twin said with a smirk. “In case you didn’t notice it’s us who’s helping you.”

Other twin nods. “Yeah. We’re here to help. Just your friendly neighborhood alphas.” 

Stiles wondered how it would work having two twin alphas in a non alpha pack. These two at least seemed to be almost interchangeable despite minor attitude differences. Maybe they just traded off days?

“Dude," Grumpy sighed. "Just get in your car and go. We won't let them hassle you. Find us tomorrow if you need any more help getting them off your ass.”

"Fine," Stiles sighed. The rest of the pack said nothing, huddling around the letter Issac was now clutching, like a flock of lost ducklings. Stiles saluted them as he got out his keys. He was sick of arguing, especially against things that worked out for him just fine. "Thanks for the save. Sorry about the idiots, I would say they mean no harm but I think you would gear that lie."

Less-grumpy snorted. "You're a weird dude. See you around."

And with that, Stiles climbed into his Jeep feeling more ready for a nap than explaining all of this to his dad and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My health is super bad still, but not covid soooooo, yay?  
Love you all. Stay safe please!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to post a small something to let you all know I'm not dead and still have every intention of updating all my teen wolf fic. I just haven't been having the greatest time with life. Had some anxiety so bad my doc and I thought it was a heart attack, but luckily the tests showed it's just my brain trying to kill me. So, hopefully I can get you all some more small chapters soon, but in the mean time thanks for hanging in there and stay safe!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The not so interesting scenery of Beacon rolled past at the annoying speed of legal.

Tap.Tap.

An old woman walking an ancient terrier waved at the patrol car as it stopped at a light. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

John waved back, Sheriff smile in full swing, no doubt. Stiles refused to even glance at his father, so he had only past experience to draw on.

Tap. Tap.

"You might as well give up," John said mildly, flipping on his turn signal and easing into what little traffic there was. "This is for your safety, and with so many people possibly gunning for you right now I am not going to change my mind." He eyed the sneakers currently resting up on the dash, where they continued to tap impatiently against the windshield, a not so silent objector. 

"Son..."

"The light's green," Stiles said, still staring out the window, arms crossed. "I would like to get to school some time this century."

John sighed dramatically, but didn't pursue the topic further, and they spent the rest of the drive in silence, only the persistent tapping objection between them. 

When they finally arrived at school only his seat belt stopped Stiles from practically throwing himself out of the moving vehicle.

"Don't make me soccer mom arm you," John threatened. "The whole point of driving you in is that everyone sees. There's no point in intimidating an empty parking lot."

"Oh come on, Stiles groaned, banging his head back against the headrest in what he knew was petulance but just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. “Isn't it bad enough that I'm not allowed to drive myself in without you walking me to the door like a kindergartner?"

"Well if it makes you feel better I won't make you hold my hand when we walk in." John didn't even try to hide his smirk.

"Fine. Whatever." People were slowing down to stare, just as he had dreaded. "Hurry up, my teachers aren't going to accept me being late to class if you’ve driven me."

"Hey.” His dad smacked his arm lightly, trying to catch his eye, but Stiles firmly remained glaring at his bag. “Can you understand that I'm doing this because I care? Your friends are loose cannons with three inch claws and a blood lust to match, there's some sort of werewolf mafia sniffing around, literally, and they've already made contact with you completely unsupervised. Son, it's a miracle I respect your grasp of what you can and can’t handle well enough that I haven't pulled you from school and locked you away in a tower somewhere." 

Damn it. Even though he knew it was a guilt trip Stiles could still feel it working. He didn’t want his dad to be worried about him over stupid things like this. He would have loved to be a normal kid having a catastrophic fallout with his best friend. Then he could have had a big cry about it, maybe snuck some booze and worried his dad a normal human amount. But of course his life wasn't so simple and instead he had to have all the power of a very small angry rabbit while facing down the werewolf mafia or whatever. It wasn’t fair.

He made a face, grabbing his backpack and shutting the door with some force. Whatever. They had spent the whole evening and morning talking in circles around this. He thought it was pretty dumb that his dad wouldn't pull him out of school back when he asked, but now that Stiles might actually be able to do something useful while at school, where at least part of the Alpha Pack was accessible and ripe for spying on, only now were his dad and Peter threatening to pull him.

True to his word John escorted him into the building, and while they didn’t hold hands as they entered the school Stiles still felt like he might spontaneously combust from all the looks people were sending their way. John idled at the front desk, chatting up the secretary as Stiles slunk off to his locker, well aware of several former Pack Mates glaring at him from their own lockers before a teacher moved them along. At least his dad was right about that, yell at enough people and eventually teachers might actually do something about bullies. 

The bell rang, causing the wolves to flinch, or no — Stiles perked up as he caught sight of the twins. They hadn't so much as blinked at the painfully loud ring, and Stiles was disappointed when they proceeded to walk in the opposite direction of his first period history class. He would have loved to test if they were open to communication and wanting to pick their brains about born wolves was the perfect excuse for poor, human Stiles.

He groaned, ignoring his father's warning look as he headed off to class at a jog.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed my writing.
> 
> Come say hello. I am a lonely person.  
ambersagen.tumblr.com


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